


beetles in the abstract

by marginaliana



Category: The Hidden Almanac (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 00:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Drom decided that if she was going to do the whole 'immortal plant person' thing, she might as well go all the way.





	beetles in the abstract

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vass/gifts).

Drom came back from a walk through the village on a late Wednesday afternoon. She had yet to locate the inevitable mysterious junk shop (no self-respecting village would be without), but they had only been here two weeks. She'd find it. Or she'd have to make one herself, which could be fun. She needed _something_ to do while Mord was gardening. Drom suspected that he would do rather a lot of gardening.

And indeed he was there in front of the cottage on hands and knees, examining the health of a small, weedy-looking sprout. He had insisted on performing an examination of the plants that grew in the garden already before he brought in anything new. Drom wasn't sure if it was about plant seniority or just making sure that the existing ecosystem was properly intimidated.

She gave a jaunty whistle as she came up the path – a fragment of her favorite drinking song whose lyrics were only suitable for Mord's hearing when she was determined to be particularly annoying – and let herself touch the ivy that twined up the fence. Just the tip of one leaf, just a quiet, private moment unobserved by anyone besides the Madonna of Leaves herself. And, well. A few others now, actually. She'd have to get used to that.

A moment later she let her hand drop, and then began whistling louder; Mord heaved a sigh and looked up just as a skitter of feet made their way across Drom's cheek.

Mord blinked. Well, Drom _thought_ he was blinking, anyway. It was always hard to understand facial expressions when it came to Mord. Given the plague doctor mask and the general inscrutability and all.

"Drom," said Mord. "I cannot help but notice that something about you has changed."

"Oh, you noticed!" said Drom. Another beetle scuttled across her face. She walked up the garden path to Mord. "Aren't they cute?"

"Cute," said Mord. 

"Don't worry, I didn't steal yours." Drom poked him in the side with her foot. Things squirmed. "See, still there."

"I know," said Mord. "I am not so self-involved as to be unable to recognize my own beetles."

"Yeah, man with a heart of gold, that's what I always said about you. Well, I suppose I'll have to say heart of something else, now. Soil? Is that even accurate?"

"Drom."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. What were we talking about?"

"You have… beetles."

"Right! You see, I figured if I was going to do the thing, I might as well go all the way. And I _am_ going to do the thing, because I literally have no choice. Also, beetles are very useful."

"Are they."

"I haven't had a hangover since I invited them in, which is pretty darn useful. I already don't—" She waved a hand in the direction of her lower half, certain he would understand her meaning. "—and now I don't have to worry about waking up all vomit-y, either."

"That is… certainly a benefit. For you."

"I know, right?" said Drom, grinning. "And Paul is a great copy editor, which will be handy when I write my next book."

"You have named your beetles."

Despite knowing Mord for several decades, Drom still found herself surprised when he managed to convey a question while making what was decisively a statement. "Yep!" she said. "I mean, it would have been rude not to, don't you think?"

Mord ignored that. "I know I will regret asking," he said, "but what are their names? Other than Paul."

"John, Pete, and Ringo."

"Pete."

"Well, I couldn't have _George_!" she said. "We already have a George. And he's, you know."

"He is an excellent crow."

"Exactly. And Pete is historically appropriate," said Drom, flopping down beside him. Ringo went down her arm and sniffed at Mord's sleeve.

"That is true."

"Glad we're on the same page, then." 

"Sometimes, Drom, I suspect that we are not even in the same library."

"Was that a joke?"

"… no."

Drom grinned. "Yes, it was. It was a joke, Mord, admit it. You made a joke!"

"I promise," said Mord, "that it will not happen again."

"Spoilsport."

"Nevertheless," Mord said, "I cannot help but notice that we have yet to truly address the issue of beetles."

"Do you have objections to them or something?" Drom asked. "I feel like that might be just a liiiittle bit hypocritical."

"I do not object to beetles in the abstract," said Mord. "However, if they are to reside in my garden, they must understand my rules."

"_Your_ garden? I thought you wanted me to learn how to garden. Because of the whole, you know."

"It would behoove you to learn," said Mord. "Nevertheless, this will remain _my_ garden."

Drom considered that in the light of ten years of friendship and the disappearance of three and a half interns. "Yeeeah, fair point," she said. "So what _are_ your rules?"

"First I will provide some materials on identification of common pests. When John, Paul… Pete… and Ringo can reliably identify and target an aphid at a ten foot distance, then we can discuss the issue further."

Drom sighed and patted the wiggling thing under the left shoulder of her jacket. "Sorry, guys," she said. "Looks like we've got work to do. But I promise you we can break out the nail polish later."


End file.
